Paranormal
by pathera
Summary: At last the sequel to Intuition! Shawn Spencer isn't dead...yet. He is, however, transparent, and the only person who can see him is the one who most refuses to let him go. Slash, Lassi/Shawn.
1. Part I: In Which Shawn is Not Dead

A/N: IT LIVES!!! MWHAHA. Welcome to the long overdue sequel to _Intuition_. If you haven't read said story you will be heartily confused by this one. _Intution _got a ton of awesome reviews, so thank you to those of you who did review, and those who put me on their favorites, and those who put me on author alert. _Paranormal _continues on from where _Intuition _left off; and since _Intuition _ended with Shawn dying...well, this _does _have Shawn in it. A Shawn who isn't dead, but isn't exactly alive either. There are going to be some _minor _religious tones to this story; how could I deal with the thought of life, death, and an afterlife without a smidgeon of religion? (That rhymed...) But trust me, the religious tones aren't really that big. There's a mention of Purgatory and a great mystical force, but since I'm not really any religion I'm certainly not going to utilize massive amounts. This is just mentioned so that I don't have people banging on my door with pitchforks screaming at me because I didn't warn them. Anyhoo, if you read _Intuition_ you know quite well that this is slash. This story is fairly different from _Intution _in a couple of key ways: it's more character-driven and less action-packed, my writing style _has _changed since I wrote _Intution_ (though I tried to keep it mostly the same), and this one is a little longer. By longer I mean that this will probably run four chapters and an epilogue (and the next chapter is finished and will posted tomorrow, most likely. The third chapter is almost done, and the fourth chapter exists only a thought at the moment). So, after this freakishly long author's note, welcome to the story and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's not mine.

Paranormal

_Part One_

When Shawn first comes to consciousness he senses nothing. This strikes him as odd, because he always senses something, whether its hearing or feeling or smelling; always _something_. He doesn't really remember what happened and he has no idea where he is; he just remembers flashes of something elusive that refuses to come fully to him. Eyes and blood and pain. He remembers pain.

His eyes flutter open and he sees nothing but white, like a blank slate, like the white padded rooms trademark of the insane asylum clichés. Is he in the hospital? Shawn doesn't remember hospitals being so clinically white and he doesn't hear the beeping that he's accustomed to hearing when he wakes up in a hospital room.

Shawn sits up and discovers that he feels no pain. He fully expects it but no sharp stab greets him, and he doesn't see anything that he expects to see.

It's white. All white, as far as he can see. There's no definition to the world; rather it's like he's floating inside of a cloud. There is no up, no down, no right, no left.

The fear comes quickly, breaking over Shawn like a wave breaking over his head: he can't breathe, he can't think, he just knows that this is horribly, terribly wrong.

"Wh-What?" He stammers out—and Shawn Spencer does not stammer, ever—and closes his eyes, blinking and trying to wake up, because surely this must be a dream. He even pinches himself, but when he does he feels nothing. He pinches harder, digging his nails into his skin until they leave crescent furrows, but there is no feeling at all. It's as if his arm isn't part of his body, as if all of his nerves are dead.

Shawn stomps his foot, just to make sure that the floor is actually there, but feels nothing. His foot stops and makes a sound, but he doesn't feel the impact. The dull sound is absorbed by the world around, almost as if it is muffled.

"What the hell is going on?" The words drop from his lips and are gone, swallowed by the white.

There is no answer and Shawn wraps his arms around himself, as if he were cold even though he is not.

Shawn decides that he must be dreaming and closes his eyes, envisioning his bedroom, with the blue comforter and the blue curtains. He will be at home, in his bed, safe and sound when he opens his eyes again, he wills. The light will be streaming through the curtains, falling on his face because he's slept until noon, _again_, and Gus will be pounding on his door, yelling at him 'get your lazy ass up, we've got work to do'.

Shawn opens his eyes.

And falls to his knees when he sees nothing but white spread out around him. Shawn doesn't feel the impact, doesn't even realize that he's falling until he finds himself on his knees rather than upright. He wants to cry but he doesn't, just brings his hands to his head and closes his eyes.

Shawn can't remember. That has happened only a matter of times before: once when he was so severely hung-over that he couldn't even walk, once when he got into his motorcycle accident and hit his head, once when someone slipped him some kind of drug, once when he fell out of a tree, once when his mom left. He massages his temples, concentrating, searching for the memories that have to be there.

They won't come, and this time Shawn lets a sob of despair escape him. He opens his eyes and finds that the white nothingness is gone. Everything is still white, but now it has the definition of a room, complete with four walls, a floor, and ceiling. He sits in a black chair, and he can feel it beneath him. He nearly cries when he realizes that he can feel again, and he makes it his job to run his fingers across his face, through his hair, over the chair beneath him.

"Mr. Spencer."

Shawn jumps when the voice comes out of nowhere; it is familiar in an entirely unfamiliar way, as if he's heard it a thousand times before but never really _heard _it. "What's going on?" He asks.

"Welcome to Purgatory."

Shawn starts, staring at the figure which emerges from a door that appears on the white wall. The figure is clothed in white, his hair so blonde that it is almost completely colorless, his eyes so pale blue that they are a mere shade from white, white wings sprouting from his back.

"P-P-Purgatory?" He stutters. "So I'm d-dead?" Shawn Spencer does not stutter in the real, normal world, but now his world has been turned so thoroughly upside down that he can do little _but _stutter.

The figure frowns.

"Not quite."

Shawn sucks in a shaky breath.

"You did die. Your heart stopped for a minute and a half before the paramedics were able to restart it."

"I-what happened?"

Shawn's memories are shrouded in a kind of fog; he can touch them but not access them, unable to reach through the fog and _remember_.

"Your memories will return soon. The shock of dying sends them into an unreachable place, to allow you time to adjust."

"Adjust to what?"

"To being dead."

"But you said I'm not dead."

"Technically, no. Currently your body lies in a coma. You will remain here until your fate is decided."

"My fate?" Shawn's head is spinning.

"Whether or not you will live or die. Every person is judged upon death, Mr. Spencer. In your case the judgment is whether or not to return you to life or send you to the afterlife."

"I don't want to die."

"Not many do. It is not your choice."

Shawn wants to scream at the unfairness of it. It's _his _life, why shouldn't it be his choice as to whether or not he keeps living it? He can't even remember how he "died". What was he doing? Was anyone else hurt? He has a hundred questions; that famous Shawn-curiosity is still thriving. He is never without the answers, but now he has not a single answer to guide him.

The figure turns, pulling the door open.

"Wait!" Shawn says, reaching out a hand. The figure pauses. "Who are you?"

"No one of importance."

The figure disappears, the door closes, and Shawn is left in the white room, sitting in the black chair. Then the floor drops out from beneath him.

He falls.

The voice, deep and loud, echoes around him.

_"Say goodbye_," it says.

He finds himself suddenly staring at himself—or at least, the broken body that was his—and he remembers everything.


	2. Part II: In Which Shawn is Transparent

A/N: Wow! That was an incredibly awesome response, and thanks to everyone who reviewed or favorited this story! I am awed by how much you like it. Anyway, I'll keep this short. Here's the next chapter, as promised. Third chapter might take a little longer because its not quite finished yet. And this _was _meant to be out like four hours ago, but I went to see _He's Just Not That Into You_, which was adorable, hopefully romantic, and (sadly) ultimately unrealistic, as all romance movies tend to be. As always, forgive any errors in characterization, spelling, or grammar; review if you so desire; and enjoy!

Disclaimer: GAH! I _hate _these things. I always forget them. How many times must I admit the painful truth that I don't own anything?

_Part Two_

Carlton Lassiter doesn't really believe in psychics and things that go bump in the night and all that jazz. He smiles and nods when his superstitious old grandmother goes on about fairies and leprechauns and spirits. He scowls and glares when Shawn goes off about it. But he doesn't believe any of it. He's a detective; logic is his full time companion and very rarely leaves him.

His logic seems to depart whenever Shawn Spencer enters the room though. There's something about the fake psychic—and make no mistake, Carlton knows that he's a fake, he just isn't all that concerned about proving it anymore—that gives him a temporary leave of his senses. When Shawn Spencer is around Carlton can believe in anything.

Which is why, when he stirs from his uneasy dozing in a chair next to Shawn's hospital bed and finds a translucent Shawn Spencer standing next to him, he only blinks. His eyes dart towards the hospital bed, just to check and make sure that he's not going crazy. Shawn Spencer is laying in the hospital bed, sporting bruises and cuts, stitches and a black eye, bandages and tubes, and completely comatose.

The Shawn standing next to him, the transparent one, stares at his own body with a peculiar expression.

Carlton stares at him; stares _through_ him. It's disconcerting, to be able to see through someone. Then he stands, swaying for a moment as his legs adjust to the sudden flow of blood, unused to his sudden weight after having been seated for so long.

"I look like crap."

"That's what happens when you take on a serial killer without backup." Carlton shoots at him, arms folded.

Shawn's eyes dart towards him, a kind of guilty half-smile on his lips. "Hey, Lassi." He says quietly and Carlton's eyes narrow.

"No, Spencer." Shawn blinks, surprise on his face. Carlton isn't used to seeing that emotion on Shawn's face, because, normally, Shawn either knows everything or he quickly hides the fact that he doesn't.

"What?"

Carlton points to the comatose body. "You get back in that body, Spencer. You aren't going anywhere."

Shawn half-smiles again. "Would if I could, Lassi." His voice is higher than normal, as if he's forcing his light tone, and there's a strange echoing quality to it.

Carlton folds his arms. He's not buying it. This is Shawn Spencer he's talking to, and in his experience Shawn Spencer can do whatever the hell he wants. "Don't you dare, Shawn." He's said those words before, in the hotel, when Shawn was bleeding and fading in his arms. The memory makes his every hair stand on end, as chilling as a physical cold draft in the room.

He stares at the young man before him. The specter of Shawn bears none of the marks that his body does, shows no sign that he took on a psychotic killer in hand-to-hand combat.

"I don't think I have long, Lassi."

He sets his jaw and glares at the man, his hands balled into fists. More than anything he wants to grab him and shake him, wants to grab him and never let him go, wants to push him against a wall and keep him there forever, where he can protect him. "You aren't going _anywhere_." He growls.

Shawn shakes his head, his eyes dark and sad. They are the same green eyes that gleamed with mischief so many times, the eyes that had been darting around for the past week or so, the same eyes that had been so frightened; they are the eyes that he knows by heart, the eyes that had gone dark and lifeless and had terrified Carlton more than anything had ever terrified him before.

"I knew it, Lassi. You know? I don't know how I did. It's only happened once before, but this was so much worse. I could feel it coming, smell it in the air the way you can smell rain. I saw him, you know. The killer. His eyes." Shawn shudders. His eyes aren't looking at Carlton; they're looking through him, as if he is as much a specter as Shawn is. "I _knew_, Lassi."

Carlton finds that he's shaking and his legs won't support him anymore. He collapses back into the chair. "Shawn, don't you dare do this to me again. Don't you dare leave." He can hear the neediness in his voice and he hates it, but the thought of Shawn leaving again scares him so much. "You don't tell someone you love them, Shawn, and then go try and get yourself killed. I don't care what the hell you knew, Shawn."

Shawn looks down. "I'm sorry, Lassi." For a moment he seems to solidify; he seems brighter and closer and more _there_, but in the next moment he seems farther away, thinner, paler, as if he's fading. Carlton lurches to his feet and stretches out a hand, reaching for Shawn.

His hand goes right through the other man's body and he feels nothing but air. Shawn has an odd look on his face, something that Carlton can't identify or explain. He pulls his hand back and stares at it, then down into Shawn's face.

"I knew I was going to die. I _had _to die. I knew that I had to die to save you. I had to be his next victim, or he would have detonated the bomb."

"You don't know that! You didn't know that!"

Shawn smiles sadly, looking up into his eyes. "But I did, Lassi. I do."

Carlton finds himself at a loss for words. He shakes his head.

"No, Shawn. No."

Shawn reaches up and runs a finger across Carlton's cheek; his hand goes right through and Carlton feels nothing. "I had to." There is a kind of pleading in his eyes that Carlton has never seen before. "I wasn't lying when I said I loved you, Carlton."

Carlton thinks that it's the first time he's ever heard Shawn say his first name, or, at least, it's the first time that it ever really mattered. "I know. And I wasn't lying when I said it back." He watches as Shawn's eyes widen.

"You did say it, then?" He breathes, his eyes taking a faraway look. "I thought I was hallucinating. It was the last thing I heard before…."

"Before your heart stopped." Carlton shakes his head. "But they got it to start again. You are alive, Shawn. Just in a coma."

Shawn looks away, towards his body. "Not for long, Lassi."

He flickers, his form disappearing for a moment and then reappearing. Carlton sucks in a breath, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. "You are not going to do this, Shawn. You are not."

Shawn smiles sadly. "I'm so sorry, Carlton. Tell Gus…tell Gus that he's the best friend anyone could have. Tell him to remember Mexico and have a pineapple smoothie for me." His lips are quivering, barely holding onto the smile. "And tell my dad that I don't hate him. He already knows it, but he needs to hear it again. Tell him I love him. Tell Chief Vick that it's not her fault, and thanks for taking a chance on me. And tell Jules that she can't give it up because of me, and that she has to stick with it, has to remember why she does it."

Carlton stares. "And what about me? What do you have to tell me? I don't want to hear any of it!" He is suddenly violently angry; angry and powerfully sad at the same time. "Just wake up."

"I love you, Carlton Lassiter. There's nothing else I can say. I would kiss you if I wouldn't just go straight through you. And I would stay if I could. You have to know that." He turns his head, as if he is hearing something that Carlton cannot hear. "I have to go."

"Shawn, don't you dare!" He reaches out, knowing that it's futile, that his hand will just pass right through Shawn's non-corporal body. But he has to try. He missed Shawn by a fraction of a second with the elevator; he was a second too late to stop the knife from entering Shawn's body, and he was incapable of doing anything but holding him when he died the first time. He will not, under any circumstances, tolerate doing nothing now.

He closes his eyes and thinks of Shawn, of every moment, of every second, of every word, every single time. And he reaches.

His hand meets solid, warm flesh.

His eyes snap open and he stares at Shawn, who stares back in just as much shock. Carlton's hand is firmly wrapped around Shawn's wrist. "How—?" He whispers. Shawn stares at him and then his eyes fixate on something behind him.

"No." He says.

Carlton turns and it is suddenly clear. He realizes why he can touch Shawn.

The body of Carlton Lassiter lies on the floor, motionless, lifeless, abandoned.

* * *

MWHAHAHA! Reviews?


	3. Part III: In Which Shawn Argues

A/N: YES!!! I've been trying to post this since Saturday, but thanks to 's technical glitches I haven't been able to. But _finally_, here's the third chapter! Thanks to everyone who put this story on alert or their favorites, and especially to those who reviewed! Please excuse any grammatical/tense errors, as usual. Enjoy, and reviews are greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

_Part Three_

Carlton reaches his hand down to touch his own body, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. His hand goes straight through.

He looks back at Shawn. The younger man retreats until he hits the wall, careening _through _it for a moment before steadying, his eyes on Carlton's body. "No." He whispers.

"Yeah. That's what I said when I saw you, Shawn. How does it feel on the other side?"

"You have to go back." Shawn says, desperate.

"Would if I could, Shawn." He says, copying Shawn's earlier words. He knows that he's being unnecessarily cruel, but he's _scared_; scared because he's floating above his own body and even more scared because he's so close to losing Shawn. Shawn snarls, an expression that Carlton has never seen on his face before, and grabs him, his hands digging into Carlton's flesh.

"No." Shawn growls. His eyes bore into Carlton's and then, suddenly, he collapses, his hands still grasping Carlton's clothes, dragging the older man down with him. Carlton has never seen Shawn like this before, never in his life, and it scares him. He kneels before the younger man.

"Shawn, it's okay."

"No, it's not." Shawn looks up. "I can't let you die because of me."

"Then don't die."

"It's not that simple, Lassi."

Carlton grips Shawn's shoulders. "Yes, Shawn. It is. Just don't die. Because if you do die, I'm coming with you." It's a spur of the moment thought—or is it? Perhaps that's why he's not inside of his own body, because of this ultimatum. Saying the words confirms the thought, the feeling, and now, heaven or hell, he _means _it.

"No, you're not!"

"We could argue about this all day, but it's not going to change anything."

"Exactly!" Shawn nearly screams. "There's nothing either of us can do. You need to let go, Lassi."

Carlton grabs Shawn collar and jerks the man's face closer, staring into his green eyes. "_No_." He growls. "I _will not let go_."

"You can't do this to everyone. They can't lose both of us at the same time."

His grip tightens. "They don't need to lose either of us, Shawn."

"I have to die."

"Then why the hell are you still alive?" He jerks his head towards Shawn's comatose body. "If you have to die, then why the hell did they bring you back? Why the hell are you here now?"

"I came back to say goodbye." Shawn whispers, not meeting his gaze.

"Bullshit." He spits out. "Bullshit, Shawn. You have no idea why you're here, do you?"

Shawn avoids his gaze. "They told me to say goodbye." He whispers.

"Who did?" He demands, his fingers tightening even more on the fabric of the man's shirt.

Shawn still doesn't look at him, as he gives a little defeated shrug. "Dunno."

"You're not saying goodbye, Shawn." He growls out, because he is _not _going to lose the younger man. Carlton Lassiter is a stubborn man, and nothing—not even a thing like death—is going to keep him away from something, or some_one_ in this case, that he wants. "I don't accept goodbye."

Shawn's eyes lift, green and shining with tears and _defeated_, and Shawn reaches out a hand, touching Carlton's face lightly, his fingertips skimming across Carlton's skin. It is an intimate touch, nothing that Carlton would ever have allowed before. But now things have changed, shifted, and nothing is the same. Now he craves the touch, thinks that he would surely _die _if the feeling of the fingertips on his skin was taken away.

"I don't think I have a choice in the matter, Lassi." Shawn makes a choked sobbing sound in the back of his throat. "I don't _want _to say goodbye. But I have to."

He seizes Shawn by the shoulders, wanting to shake him and barely containing himself. "_No." _They are turning in this dance, no versus no, and it seems as though it will never end.

Behind them the door opens; they turn, instinctively holding their breath. Juliet steps into the room and freezes right on the threshold, staring at Carlton's body on the floor. They watch as her expression morphs into one of horror, and then she is on the ground next to his body, her fingers feeling for his pulse.

But she doesn't see them.

They watch, motionless, as she runs out of the room and returns with a parade of nurses and doctors on her heels; Karen, Gus, and Henry follow, hanging back at the threshold to stay out of the way.

"Why can't they see us?" Shawn whispers, staring at the crowd of people in the room. Two orderlies push a gurney into the room, clearing a path through the nurses; Carlton's body is lifted and wheeled out of the room. Juliet sinks into the chair that Carlton had been sitting in, burying her head in her hands. Gus enters and places a gentle hand on her shoulder, staring at Shawn's body. Karen leans against the doorframe, limp and pale; her head tilted back, her eyes closed. Henry paces the confines of the room like a caged animal. "Why could you see me but not them?"

Carlton stares at them, just as bewildered as Shawn.

"I don't know," he finally admits.

Shawn climbs to his feet, walking hesitantly across the room, waving a hand in front of Gus's face and getting no reaction.

"Both of them?" Juliet's whisper cuts through the room and everyone flinches. Shawn takes a stumbling step backwards, then whirls to face Carlton.

"You have to go back." His voice still as that desperate, pleading catch, but now there is another part that seems almost angry. "Look at them. They can't lose both of us at the same time." He takes a breath. "So you have to go back."

Carlton rises and takes a step forward, his eyes square on Shawn. "They can't lose either of us, Shawn!"

Shawn's hands ball into fists. "We're only unconscious right now, Carlton. What the hell do you think they're going to be like if we _both _die? Do you want that on your conscience?"

Carlton closes the space between them and grabs him. "You want it on yours? I'm not leaving you."

Shawn's eyes are a myriad of emotion: desperate, pleading, angry, sad. "We can't do this to them."

Carlton's grip is unwavering. "You can't do this to me."

"_Enough_." A voice booms, loud as thunder.

And the world goes white.

* * *

A/N 2: Chapter four isn't even started yet, so it might take a while for it to go up, but it does exist in my mind so I just have to _write _it...

Reviews?


	4. Part IV: In Which Decisions Are Made

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry this took so long, again. It's actually been finished for about a week, but I was distracted and then when I tried to post it there were (once again) technical glitches. Oh well. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and those who put me on their favorites/alerts! Please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. After this there is just an epilogue, which is half-written. And if my three hour poetry class doesn't absolutely kill me tonight, the epilogue might get finished (but don't hold your breath for that). Enjoy and leave a review to let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: Four chapters in and its _still _not mine. I wonder what that means?

_Part Four_

In the absolute antithesis of color, Shawn is afraid that he'll find himself back in the same place he was before, the place with no definition and no feeling. More than that he is afraid—absolutely _terrified_—that the blinding light will fade and he'll find himself alone.

More than anything, he doesn't want to be alone.

The light fades and he _is _in a familiar place, the all white room he was in before. But he isn't alone. Not this time, and even as his heart thuds faster with renewed fear, a smile breaks over his face. Carlton stands beside him, blinking furiously, his eyes wide as he takes in their surroundings.

"You okay?" Shawn whispers. Carlton doesn't make any verbal reply, just reaches out and takes Shawn's hand, holding tight. Shawn holds on just as tightly, moving closer to the taller man, as though taking shelter in his presence.

"Where are we?" Carlton says after a long moment, when he has finally regained his wits enough to formulate a thought.

"They called it Purgatory." Shawn says. "This is where I showed up. The floor dropped right out from beneath me and they told me to say goodbye. Next thing I knew I was floating."

"You're not saying goodbye." Carlton says, in a deep, gravely, absolutely confident voice that sends butterflies fluttering in Shawn's stomach. Helpless, the only thing he can do is grip Carlton's hand even tighter.

"That is to be determined." The same voice from before says; both men jump and turn towards the white figure. Carlton's lips part and he gasps; Shawn clamps his lips tightly together and narrows his eyes.

"What do you mean 'to be determined'?" Carlton asks.

The figure moves forward. "Mr. Spencer's fate _was _determined, but you are an unforeseen guest, Mr. Lassiter. Your presence changes things."

"Shawn isn't dying." Carlton says, facing the figure down, meeting those pale, pale blue eyes with steadfast conviction.

The figure holds the gaze, his expression mild. "Perhaps."

"Who are you?" There is a bite of anger to Carlton's voice, the kind of sharpness that always pulls the answers out of suspects in interrogations.

"No one of consequence."

Carlton's eyes narrow. "Shawn isn't dying."

"That decision is not up to me." The figure says. "Nor is it up to you."

"It should be!" Shawn yells, speaking up for the first time. He had sat back, letting them talk, but irritation fills him, irritation and desperation, a hopeless kind of fear and, for the first time, anger. "It is _my _life." He says, in a voice much softer but also much stronger. "It is my life and I should be able to decide what happens to it. I'm not ready to die." He interlaces his fingers with Carlton's and meets the figure's eyes. "I'm _not _dying."

"And I'm not leaving without him." Carlton says. The figure looks between the two of them, expression still perfectly blank and unreadable.

"Eurydice and Orpheus." He says after a moment, in a tone of blandness. "We shall see if you end up better." Without another word he is gone, disappearing like a cloud of smoke, simply _fading _out of existence.

Shawn blinks. "Am I supposed to be Eurydice? Did I just get called the girl in this relationship?"

For the first time Carlton smiles. "Clearly you _are _the girl in this relationship."

Shawn glares, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "Am not." There is a short pause as he looks away. "Um…is this a relationship? Assuming I don't _die_…."

Carlton pulls him around, facing him, his face inches away. "Spencer, you kissed me in front of Chief Vick and Juliet. Confessed that you love me. Ran away and got yourself _killed_. Came back as a _ghost_. Dragged me to whatever the hell this place is." He raises his eyebrows. "You've put me through too much. This is a relationship, whether you like it or not. You don't have choice."

Shawn breaks out into a wide grin that cannot be contained; his eyes light up from within and Carlton feels himself smiling back. "Just checking." Shawn says, before he throws his arms around the taller man and smashes their lips together. Carlton wraps his arms around the younger man's waist and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss.

"Ahem." The voice says from behind them and they break apart, turning, Carlton's cheeks flushing slightly, Shawn's eyes narrowing in what can only be irritation. The figure is there again, arms folded. "It's time." He says.

A door appears on the white wall behind him and the figure pushes it open, beckoning them. They exchanged looks before following together, perfectly in step.

They walk through complete, solid darkness and step into a pool of golden light. Everything around them is completely dark; there is the sense that they are the center of the room, and that anyone in the darkness can see them without being seen.

"Shawn Spencer and Carlton Lassiter." A voice says, loud and booming, like thunder, powerful enough to send tremors through them. They reach out to each other, reaching out for some sense of familiarity and comfort, and they move closer, shoulders brushing. "Your fate has been decided."

"And?" Shawn says, raising his voice. He fights to keep the tremor out of his voice, summoning the anger that lies beneath the thick layer of fear. "What is it?"

"You, Shawn Spencer, were supposed to die. This fate was determined prior to the event; you received the warnings and followed the path that led to your death."

"I didn't exactly have much of a choice."

"You did. Had you ignored the warnings and done nothing the consequences would have been much higher. _You _would have lived. Carlton Lassiter would have not. He, and many other people, would have died."

"Told you I had to." Shawn whispers to Carlton, feeling like a child who has won some kind of small victory against their parent.

Carlton shoots him a vicious glare and he clamps his mouth shut.

"You made your decision, followed the warnings, and sacrificed yourself. You are meant to die."

"If he was meant to die," Carlton says, his voice loud and strong and _angry_, "why was he sent back? His heart restarted and you sent him as a _ghost_."

"His heart was restarted because of human efforts. He was _meant _to die and stay dead. He was sent as a ghost as a gift to him, to allow him to say goodbye. It is a courtesy offered to those who sacrifice themselves for the good of others."

"If he dies," Carlton says, and his voice is that of a man offering an ultimatum, "I'm not going back to my body. I _refuse_."

"_You _present a problem. It is not your time to die, Carlton Lassiter, and ultimately your fate is not your choice." He sets his jaw, a muscle twitching in his neck.

"Then why did I leave my body? Why am I here?"

The voice seems to heave a great sigh. "The strength of your connection with Mr. Spencer was…unanticipated."

"I don't know what that means." Carlton says. "And I don't really care."

"You said that a decision had been made." Shawn says, speaking up. "What is it? Stop jerking us around and just tell us, so that we can get on with our lives…or my death."

"You were meant to die. However, your continued attachment to life and particularly to Mr. Lassiter connects you still to your body. It is decided that you will return to your body. You aren't going to die today."

All the breath rushes out of Shawn's lungs and he shrieks his joy, jumping on Carlton. The taller man bears his weight, smiling.

"Can I expect any more of that precognition stuff?" He asks, after he has both feet on the ground again.

"Once in a while, yes. If you are to live, Mr. Spencer, you are going to work."

Shawn arches his eyebrows as Carlton. "See! I really am psychic!"

Carlton shakes his head, unable to summon any verbal abilities and simply smiling. Finally he looks out into the darkness. "Will we remember this?"

The darkness starts to lessen, replaced by that blinding white light again. "It is better that these memories…fade. This will seem a dream to you."

Carlton wraps his arms around Shawn and the shorter man rests his head on his chest, sighing. They close their eyes as the light wraps around them.

"Hold onto each other." The voice says, and there is the sense that it is meant in a deeper way that literally.

"_Return." _

* * *

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	5. Part V: Epilogue

A/N: Welcome to the conclusion of _Paranormal_!! I'm incredibly tired and a little out of it right now, but I'm also incredibly excited that this is finally done! Considering that its three in the morning, please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. Thank you to my awesome reviewers (and lurkers) who have followed this to its completion, and I hope you're happy with this little epilogue. This is kind of a switch from the drama/angsty-ness of the previous chapters, and is quite a bit lighter and fluffier, especially towards the end. There will _not _be a sequel, simply because I have no idea what I would write. Enjoy and thank you for reading!

_Part Five_

_Epilogue_

Shawn's eyes flutter open to a blank white ceiling. He feels a bed supporting his weight, a pillow beneath his head. He feels medical instruments pressed against his skin, feels the slight pressure of the IV's hooked up to his arm. He hears the sound of beeping, the mechanical whirl of the plethora of machines. Softer, infinitely softer, he hears the sound of breathing; he feels a calloused hand gripping his tightly.

Tilting his head up he smiles at the sight of Carlton Lassiter sleeping in the chair next to his bed, an IV hooked into his arm. He looks at the man's sleeping face for a few long moments, smiling goofily, before he raises his gaze and catches Juliet's instantly. Her face is priceless, her mouth slightly parted, her eyes wide in her pale face.

The pain starts to set in, an ache in his head, his chest, his ribs, his arms. Breathing hurts, and he's sure that talking is going to hurt even worse, but he can't just stay silent. "Something's gonna fly into your mouth Jules, if you leave it hanging open like that." He says with a grin. Her mouth snaps closed and tears well up in the corners of her eyes.

"You're awake," she whispers in a disbelieving voice.

"Yep." Talking _does _hurt, and his voice is raspy, but it's pain that he can handle. He's too grateful to be alive to let a little thing like pain stop him. He tries to sit up but instantly freezes and rethinks the movement as the pain shoots through his torso.

She races to the other side of his bed, her entire body trembling as she seizes the hand that Carlton isn't clutching. Tears spill down her face as she holds his hand. "You're _alive_."

"It's gonna take a lot more than some crazy to get rid of _me_, Jules." He says, the grin still alive and well on his face.

"I should kill you right now, Shawn Spencer, for doing something so…so—stupid!"

"You'll stain the bed sheets if you kill me here. And I'm sure that Gus wants a piece of me. He'll be a grumpy-face all day if he doesn't get to help maim me."

She throws her hands up and then props them on her hips, trying to scowl but merely smiling. She shakes her head. "I'll get the doctors. They'll want to know you're awake." He watches her hurry from the room and feels a shifting beside him. Tilting his head down, his breath catches as he sees Carlton's eyes wide open.

"You're awake." Carlton breathes. The grin on Shawn's face softens into a smile and he squeezes the older man's hand, still clutched in his own.

"So are you." He tilts his head. "Why do you have an IV hooked up to you?" His eyes widen briefly. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

"He fainted." A crisp voice says from the doorway, as the doctor steps across the threshold, Gus, Vick, Juliet, and Henry following behind him, a smiling, beaming army of people. "A simple case of too much stress, worry, and dehydration. We tried to keep him in his own room, but the moment he woke up he insisted on being back in here with you. We allowed him the chair provided he remain hooked up to the IV to be rehydrated. He refused to be parted from you." The doctor finishes, gaze flickering to their intertwined hands.

Carlton flushes, realizing that he's still holding onto Shawn, and makes to pull his hand away; Shawn only grips tighter, a grin spreading over his face. "Dad?" He says, and Henry meets his son's gaze. "I'm gay."

Henry scowls. "I noticed. Perhaps _you _haven't noticed, Shawn," he says in that dry, sarcastic tone he utilizes so well, "but you're in a _hospital _bed. Because you almost _died_."

"What better place for dramatic revelations about my love life than when I'm on my death bed?"

The doctor cracks a smile. "Ah, well clearly your sense of humor hasn't suffered any. Provided that you're always this witty?" He says, looking to the group of friends and family.

Gus shakes his head. "Oh no. He's _always _like this." He says in the half-amused/half-frustrated voice of someone who has put up with Shawn routinely over a long period of time.

"That's a good sign then." The doctor says. "So, Mr. Spencer, how do you feel?"

"Like I got attacked by a serial killer. Oh _wait_…."

"Yeah," Gus says, "he's fine."

Shawn grins and the doctor smiles. "Well, Mr. Spencer your vitals are strong and you seem to be doing well. At this point I'm going to tentatively say you'll be just fine and make a full recovery. We'll give you something to deal with the pain, and it'll probably knock you out, so be prepared. The next time you wake up we'll discuss how long you'll be here and some physical therapy."

"Thanks Doc."

"Mr. Lassiter," the doctor says, turning to the other man, "we're going to keep you overnight for observation, just to be safe."

Under normal circumstances he would fight the verdict, but instead Carlton just sighs and nods. The doctor leaves the room, the door clicking closed behind him, and all eyes turn to Shawn.

"Shawn," Gus finally says, "if you _ever _pull a stunt like that again, I'll kill you with my bare hands."

"Seconded." Henry and Carlton say at the same time, giving each other long measuring looks.

"I promise to try and avoid getting myself almost killed, but I can't really make any promises." He gives a quirky grin and put one hand to his head. "The spirits guide me." He says in a mystical voice.

"Oh yeah." Henry says, scowling. "He's absolutely fine. And on that note, I'm leaving."

Chief Vick nods. "I'm going to take my leave as well. Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster, Mr. Lassiter, as of now you are all on paid leave."

Carlton looks at her, mouth opening to protest, but she cuts him off with a sharp look. "Not up for discussion, Carlton. Paid leave until I say otherwise."

"But—." She gives him another sharp look and Shawn leans close to him.

"Lassi, just say 'thank you, Chief." Carlton looks at him and sighs, a tiny smile tugging on his lips.

"Thank you, Chief." He repeats, and Vick smiles.

"Goodnight." She says and follows Henry out the door.

"Shawn, do you need anything?" Gus asks, approaching the bed.

"A pineapple, a pineapple smoothie, pineapple upside down cake—."

"So I'll take that as a 'no'." Gus says, grinning a little. "I'll see you in the morning, Shawn. Don't annoy the doctors in the twelve hours that I'm gone."

"I can't make any promises."

Gus shakes his head, smiling. "Goodnight Shawn."

Jules smiles as well. "I'm going to go get some sleep too. I'll come back to check on you tomorrow." She pats him on the leg. "I'm glad you're okay." She follows Gus to the door.

"Bring me pineapple!" He calls after them, and then grins at Carlton as the door closes.

Carlton shakes his head, smiling lightly. The expression was unfamiliar—Shawn could count the number of times he had seen the older man smile on one hand before now—but it was absolutely beautiful. Shawn's stomach fluttered.

"I'm glad you're alive." Carlton whispers.

"I'm glad I'm alive too." He says back. His forehead creases as a thought hits him and he shakes his head a little. "Wow." He says after a moment. "I had the weirdest dream."

Carlton's back straightens noticeably and his grip tightens a little. "About what?"

"I was in Purgatory." He says in a faint voice. "And then I was a ghost and then…."

"I was a ghost."

They stare at each other, Shawn's forehead furrowed; Carlton's expression perplexed.

"How did you know that?"

"Shawn, I-I don't think that was a dream."

"Well…damn."

The door opens and a nurse comes in, wheeling a cart. She looks up, smiling. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." They shake their heads in unison, silent. "Mr. Spencer, I'm going to give you some painkillers now, which will put you to sleep."

"Sure." He says, and the nurse administers the medicine. She nods to them both and leaves the room. They look at each other.

"Well, moving on from the disturbing realization that the dream wasn't actually a dream…." The painkillers begin to hit him and he takes in a deep breath, fighting back a yawn. He meets Carlton's gaze. "I love you."

Carlton stands up, leaning forwards and pressing their lips together, gently and sweetly. "I love you too."

His eyelids flutter and he smiles. "I could get used to this kind of treatment. We could just eliminate talking all together and communicate like that all the time."

"Don't push your luck, Spencer." Carlton says. "And go to sleep."

"Aye, aye, Detective." He says sleepily, his eyelids closing against his will.

"I'll be here when you wake up," is the last thing he hears. The words follow him all the way down through the darkness, to the warm, comforting grip of sleep.

He can still feel the other hand resting on his.

For once, the world is right.

_Fin._

* * *

A/N 2: I may have overloaded on fluff towards the end. Sorry if anyone out there is choking on it, but I thought Shawn and Lassi deserved a little happiness after everything I've put them through. I might (massive _might_) eventually write an alternative ending which is _not _happy (i.e. Shawn dies) but that will only occur if I ever get the inspiration for it. So, as of now, I declare _Paranormal _officially ENDED! Thanks for reading!

Reviews for love?


	6. Part VI: The Alternate Ending

A/N: So it turns out that I wasn't _quite _done with this just yet, even though it's been a while. I mentioned at the end of the last chapter that I was thinking about an alternate ending, if I got the inspiration for it, and some of my lovely reviewers (thanks to all of you!) showed an interest. Well, it's been a while, but that inspiration finally struck, and I know present you with an alternate ending to _Paranormal_! This one is _not _happy and fluffy, quite the opposite in fact. So I'll warn you right now of character death and some angst. The beginning is the same as part of chapter four, leading up until the part where the verdict is announced, and that's where the changes come in. So, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

_Part Six_

_The Alternate Ending_

They walk through complete, solid darkness and step into a pool of golden light. Everything around them is completely dark; there is the sense that they are the center of the room, and that anyone in the darkness can see them without being seen.

"Shawn Spencer and Carlton Lassiter." A voice says, loud and booming, like thunder, powerful enough to send tremors through them. They reach out to each other, reaching out for some sense of familiarity and comfort, and they move closer, shoulders brushing. "Your fate has been decided."

"And?" Shawn says, raising his voice. He fights to keep the tremor out of his voice, summoning the anger that lies beneath the thick layer of fear. "What is it?"

"You, Shawn Spencer, were supposed to die. This fate was determined prior to the event; you received the warnings and followed the path that led to your death."

"I didn't exactly have much of a choice."

"You did. Had you ignored the warnings and done nothing the consequences would have been much higher. _You _would have lived. Carlton Lassiter would have not. He, and many other people, would have died."

"Told you I had to." Shawn whispers to Carlton, feeling like a child who has won some kind of small victory against their parent.

Carlton shoots him a vicious glare and he clamps his mouth shut.

"You made your decision, followed the warnings, and sacrificed yourself. You are meant to die."

"If he was meant to die," Carlton says, his voice loud and strong and _angry_, "why was he sent back? His heart restarted and you sent him as a _ghost_."

"His heart was restarted because of human efforts. He was _meant _to die and stay dead. He was sent as a ghost as a gift to him, to allow him to say goodbye. It is a courtesy offered to those who sacrifice themselves for the good of others."

"If he dies," Carlton says, and his voice is that of a man offering an ultimatum, "I'm not going back to my body. I _refuse_."

"_You _present a problem. It is not your time to die, Carlton Lassiter, and ultimately your fate is not your choice." He sets his jaw, a muscle twitching in his neck.

"Then why did I leave my body? Why am I here?"

The voice seems to heave a great sigh. "The strength of your connection with Mr. Spencer was…unanticipated."

"I don't know what that means." Carlton says. "And I don't really care."

"You said that a decision had been made." Shawn says, speaking up. "What is it? Stop jerking us around and just tell us, so that we can get on with our lives…or my death."

"You were meant to die. We therefore present you with a choice. You may live, but the price of your life must be that all those you saved will perish, including Lassiter." Shawn's grip tightens on him; Shawn's eyes are wide and his skin is pale, and his mouth forms the word _no _silently. "The other option is that you _will _die, now, but those you saved will continue to live. There is no other course that destiny can take. It is either live or die, Spencer, so choose now."

Shawn's nails dig into Carlton's skin; the fake psychic refuses to look at him, and Carlton can tell from the determined line of his jaw that the decision is already made. And it kills him.

"Shawn…." He whispers.

"That's not a choice at all," Shawn says, his voice strong.

"It's the same choice you were presented with before. Will your answer be any different now?"

"No." He says, the word slipping out of his mouth. "I choose to die, if they can live."

Now it is Carlton's turn to dig his nails into Shawn's skin. He holds the younger man in a death grip, his eyes gazing furiously out into the darkness.

"We expected nothing less," the voice says, and it fills Carlton with a rage like he has never felt before. Rage and despair, a twisting storm inside of him.

"That's not _fair_!" He screams out at the great voice and the darkness. "You can't _do _this! I will _not _go back without him, understand? I will _not_!"

"You will," the voice says at the same time as Shawn. He falls silent, staring at the shorter man in disbelief. Shawn moves closer to him, pressing their bodies flush against each other.

"I told you before, Lassi, that I had to die." Shawn licks his lips. "And I don't _want _to die, but if that's the price of saving you…then it's worth it. I won't let you die, Lassi, not over me. You have to live, okay? You _have _to."

"But—."

Shawn silences him with a desperate kiss, and Carlton holds on to him with all of his strength. When they surface for air he turns his face towards the immovable darkness.

"This isn't fair," he whispers.

"Fairness isn't our concern, Lassiter. The world is not fair. Say your final goodbye." The voice is cold and distant.

"You don't have a heart, do you? You don't give a damn about any of us, or you wouldn't do this." He holds Shawn, feeling their hearts beat in time.

There is a stirring, as though someone is shifting uncomfortably. "We are not human, Lassiter. We do not see things the way you see them, nor can you see things as we see. We see everything; you see but a small part. And that small part means everything to you, but you cannot see that if one part fails the entirety is destroyed. One small change and everything can unravel. This is cruel, yes, but not intentional cruelty. Everyone has a destiny, and Shawn Spencer has lived his. Now you must live yours."

He turns his face away from the darkness as the voice fades; he doesn't want to hear anymore. Instead he presses his lips against Shawn's lips again, trying to hold the world together before it shatters. He looks into the other man's green eyes, trying to drown himself in them.

Shawn's mouth quirks up into a tiny, forced grin. Tears swim in his eyes and he dashes them away with the back of his hand. "I love you, Carlton Lassiter."

"I love you," Carlton whispers back, tightening his arms around the other man.

But then his arms hold only air and he falls, falls through the unending darkness, a sob caught in his throat.

He opens his eyes to the sound of a heart monitor flat-lining, and knows that nothing will ever be right again.

____

Nothing in the world is right.

Carlton Lassiter knows this instinctively; he feels it every moment of every day after he wakes in the hospital. It is rather as though the world has tilted just the tiniest bit, so that every step is on an incline, as though the world is ready to fall right out from under him.

Chief Vick gives him time off. She tells him to take as much time as he needs, and for once he doesn't argue. Because he can't be in the station without seeing little details of Shawn's presence; he can't look at Juliet or Chief Vick without seeing the pain in their eyes and feeling the same pain hammer inside of him. He takes the time off and tries to pull himself back together, but he feels as though he's trying to do a jigsaw puzzle with half of the pieces missing.

Nothing, _nothing _is right.

The first time he opens his fridge after coming home he freezes, staring at the container of pineapple sitting so innocently on the top shelf. He stares and stares and then takes the container out and throws it into the trashcan. He can't even _look _at the fruit, can't even _smell _it without his stomach churning painfully.

There are so many little things like that, things that make him just want to curl up in the darkness and never come out. Adds for psychic hotlines on television; newspaper clippings about some of his cases; smoothies; certain songs; certain movies; it seems as though just about everything in his life is somehow tainted. As though Shawn is always just right there, hovering just out of sight.

And it _kills _him.

His time off grows longer and longer, because he can't bring himself to walk back into the station. Chief Vick and Juliet call, but he lets the phone ring, lets the machine answer. He listens to their tinny voices grow more and more concerned, but he can't bring himself to answer. Eventually his phone rings more and more; Gus's voice joins the others, sounding awkward and lost and broken as much as he is; Henry Spencer calls, his voice gruff and demanding, and Carlton just shuts himself off more.

Finally there is pounding on his door, and he can hear Juliet's voice calling for him. He sits inside, shaking his head, and refuses to answer.

She picks the lock.

When she walks into his living room there is a look of disbelief on her face. He is normally so pristine about his home; everything in its proper place, everything neat and tidy. Now there are things everywhere, and he simply doesn't care. She looks at him and the disbelief changes to shock.

He refuses to look in the mirror, because he can't bear to look himself in the eye.

She stares at him and then props her hands on her hips, for all the world looking like a younger, blonder version of his mother.

"Carlton Lassiter," she says, in a voice that means business. "You are a _disgrace_." He jerks, shocked, because that is the last thing he expects to hear. He can hear the heat in her voice, the _disgust_. "You are a disgrace to Shawn's memory." He rises, glaring at her, anger boiling inside of him, because how _dare _she say something like that? "I know that you are hurting, but you _cannot _live like this. What would he say? What would he say if he saw you like this? He wouldn't want you to sit here and wallow in misery for the rest of your life; that would _kill _him." He jerks again, because her words hit deep and ring true. "So, what's it gonna be, Carlton? Are you going to be the man he fell in love with, or are you just going to throw your life away, and disgrace the very person that he was?"

With that she whirls on her heel and storms away, the door slamming behind her. The sound echoes in the emptiness.

He stands there, mute and still and shocked, then turns. He walks into the bathroom, flips on the light, and stares at the person in the mirror. He doesn't recognize the man who stares back at him. That man is hollow-eyed and hollow-cheeked, unshaven and pale. He shakes his head.

_"You have to live, okay? You have to."_

"Sorry, Shawn," he whispers. He closes his eyes, his mouth forming the words _I love you_.

Then he reaches into the medicine cabinet and pulls out a can of shaving cream. He lathers the cream onto his face and presses the razor blade to his cheek, pulling down to reveal smooth, clean skin.

Nothing is right, and it never will be again.

But maybe he can live with that.

* * *

And _now, _I declare Paranormal OFFICIALLY over! So, what did you think? Reviews?


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